


A Scarf Thing

by HM (HyperMint)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Frottage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperMint/pseuds/HM
Summary: Eames sends Arthur scarves.





	A Scarf Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Inception and other recognizable things aren't mine. 
> 
> AN: So.
> 
> Happy New Year!
> 
> It's really cold out right now, so I figured 'why not a story about scarves?' 
> 
> I haven't actually written much of a ... smut kind of scene, but there is a little something near the end. I'm not sure how to feel about that, but I tried. 
> 
> There is also a real life event kind of thing that will be completely obvious when you get to it. I'm not actually sure if I need to make some kind of trigger warning for it. Anyway, no disrespect is intended. For anyone.
> 
> Hope you like it.

* * *

 

It started as a bit of a lark.

Eames was wandering around a market somewhere and found his gaze caught by a rack of scarves.

After having just met Arthur, he thought of the man almost instantly and wondered vaguely how the man would incorporate such color into his drab wardrobe.

The man needed some creativity in his life and Eames couldn’t help wondering what kind of scarf the man let himself have.

A grey one, he bet.

Not that he spent much thought about the Point Man or his boring clothes, but he couldn’t help the sneaking thoughts sometimes.

It wasn’t until he was trailing a mark that he found himself diving into a scarf rack to avoid detection and ending up with a scarf he’d had no intention of wearing or even keeping.

He’d honestly been about to bin it when he thought of Arthur again and a spark of mischief had him looking through the man’s various aliases and sending it off.

The American had given no indication of having received it and Eames figured he’d binned it.

It didn’t make much of a difference to him, but he found himself in possession of a second scarf and sent that along, too.

Again, no response.

No angry Point Man gunning for him, no ‘accidental’ almost near death experience of any sort.

Maybe Arthur just decided to ignore him and hoped he would go away or at least hope his ridiculous scarf thing ended.

Eames wasn’t someone who just agreed with being ignored, but he didn’t have to make that point from several thousand miles in any direction when he could make it from right beside the man at their next job.

For about a year, ‘the scarf thing’ still drifted in the back of his mind until a completely un-Arthur related job went tits up and Eames found himself furiously hitting the nearest track once he’d been given the all clear.

He ran himself out, called his old friend Tony to rant (“Should you even be telling me all of this? Federal Agent, remember?”), and finally got himself put together for a night on the town.

Deciding to hold off on going directly to the casino, he stopped in a middling place for a bite and let his gaze roam.

He wasn’t entirely sure why the man had caught his attention in the corner, but he noted the man’s multicolored scarf and the drab suit and suddenly thought of Arthur again.

The next day, he found another scarf and sent it to the location of one of Arthur’s identities.

There was still no response, but, then, he wasn’t quite expecting one.

A few months later, he sent another scarf and was similarly ignored.

And another a few months after that.

He joined a job with him some weeks after he should’ve gotten it and decided to see what he did.

Nothing, as it turned out.

The man was still as pretentious as ever, not even the slightest bit human, and still gave no indication that he knew Eames existed.

It was actually a bit endearing, in a way, to know that the world could go off around them and Darling would still call him ‘Mr. Eames’ in that posh way the git had.

Eames waited a month after that before going out to find another scarf to send him, something that would hopefully make him lighten up.

Not that he held out much hope, but still.

He sent another scarf a few weeks after that.

An entire year passed in a similar manner.

He would wander around the place he was laying low in – no matter what the season – and would inevitably find himself buying a scarf and sending it off to Arthur, no note and no explanation.

One scarf at a time, every couple months or so.

Eventually, it was just something he started doing almost without thought.

Regardless of length or style or color or pattern, any scarf that caught his eye was sent off to Arthur, who – at some point – had to be getting at least a smidge exasperated.

At some point, Eames decided that Arthur had yet to tell him to stop and wondered if he would stop even if the man told him to.

The few scattered jobs they had together gave Arthur the perfect opportunity to threaten him if he didn’t stop sending those scarves, but nothing happened.

The man was always busy and not in the least bit interested in socializing outside the Cobbs.

Obviously, since the man didn’t seem affected one way or another, he wasn’t upset.

So, Eames didn’t stop.

He didn’t quite stop to think about why he kept sending Arthur scarves every few months, but – as far as quirks went – it was harmless enough.

Then, of course, something happened that Eames had only ended up hearing about two months after the fact and actually thought about stopping his harmless fun.

Something happened somewhere and ten people ended up dead by Arthur’s hand.

For the first time, Eames found him honestly terrifying.

The fallout from that mysterious incident was still making the rounds when Eames met up with him again and he’d decided to just keep his personality to himself lest he set Arthur off into whatever blinding rage someone else had been the misfortunate target of.

He was a world class Forger, a top notch actor – if he said so himself – and actually found it easy to become this timid version of himself whenever Arthur was around.

The man stayed calm – especially since everyone else on the team had the same thought of keeping him happy – and Eames thought he was going to get away unscathed until a rooftop door slammed closed while he was enjoying a smoke and Arthur was suddenly striding across the roof toward him.

“Arthur,” he eyed him uncertainly as he stopped at the rail beside him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dark eyes glared at him. “Drop it, Eames.”

“… drop what?”

“The act. I know you’re acting, so stop it.”

“Well, Arthur –”

“And that,” he pointed at him. “You’ve been here a week and a half and it’s all ‘Arthur’ this and ‘Arthur’ that and I’m sick of it! And what’s with that tie?”

Eames looked down at it with a critical gaze. There was nothing wrong with it as far as he could see, it actually matched his jacket for once, and he shrugged. “Maybe I feel like doing something a little different this job, yeah?”

Arthur glared harder. “Find time to do your ‘something’ on someone else’s job, Eames.”

He then turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Eames completely baffled in his wake.

Eames still wasn’t sure what to make of it even two months later, another scarf in hand as he wondered whether to send it or not.

Eventually deciding ‘in for a penny’, he sent it off like the others and waited to see if he got a response.

Nothing of any nature befell him and he sent another one shortly after that.

After a third one, he ran into Arthur at a café and the man seemed to have gotten whatever that terrifying incident was out of his system.

At the very least, Eames wasn’t yelled at again and Arthur didn’t seem to know what he was talking about when he brought it up.

Oh well.

Perhaps it was a heat of the moment thing that he was embarrassed by and Eames decided it in his best interests to leave it there.

He wanted to needle the man, not send him into a homicidal fit.

Eames would have thought that was the end of it, but, a month later, some rumors came trickling down that Arthur had ruined a low level arms dealer’s reputation after the destruction of some evidently very pricey luggage and everyone started to steer clear of Arthur’s mercurial moods.

Strangely, though, not once had those moods been turned in Eames’ direction.

Even as scarf after scarf was – seemingly – received by some of Arthur’s various aliases, Eames never received a response about any of them.

At one point, he even wondered if he actually _was_ getting any of them and figured that was as good an explanation as any.

A couple years passed and Eames kept sending him a scarf every two or three months.

He figured that Arthur probably figured that he would eventually tire of it – if he was getting them at all – and he would stop getting them.

At that point, however, Eames had pretty much decided that he was going to stop when Arthur told him to and not a moment before – no matter how many terrifying incidents he heard about what happened to the poor soul that set one of Arthur’s properties ablaze.

Or what happened to a mugger or a would-be thief or an entire family of drug runners  or a double crosser they still couldn’t find the other half of or…

Respect, admiration and a bit of fear mixed in his stomach every time he heard the latest of Arthur’s … adventures.

On every shared job, however, Eames took that still unexplained dressing down to heart and didn’t think about toning his personality down again.

Arthur seemed pleased, as far as he could tell, despite not appearing any different in any particular mood.

Then, of course, Mal tossed herself out a window and Eames lost track of Arthur as he and Cobb went on the run.

What a bloody mess that was.

As for the scarves, he looked up the least used of Arthur’s active aliases and used them to send his packages.

There was still the chance that Arthur wasn’t getting them, but it had become something of a habit that it didn’t seem right to just… stop.

Then it was Inception and he was face to face with Arthur once again.

Except…

Somewhere, along the line, they’d become something resembling friends and it was a relief to see the American doing well.

Or still alive, at any rate.

During their seemingly impossible task, they became a little closer and Eames walked away from their incredible success feeling as if something was there between him and Arthur, something lurking under the surface.

Their lives went on and Eames still sent scarves to Arthur and still took jobs with him, that something under the surface continuing to grow.

He thought about Arthur more and more, wondering what he was up to, if he’d actually received any of his … gifts? and what he’d done with them.

Wondering how the bloody hell he managed to pull that little stunt off with the bicycles and what the hell could set him off into a bloodthirsty rage that had _Mafia soldiers_ cowering at the thought of him.

He sometimes wondered what Arthur was doing, if he was in a shower or a bathtub and if he wore anything to bed.

He had some good jaunts down that path, but Eames still wasn’t sure if he was the only one feeling that extra something and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Especially after Arthur – allegedly – gunned down four people in cold blood.

One of his … smaller bouts of bloodthirst, but no less attention catching.

One of these days, when Eames was sure he wouldn’t be offed for asking, he was going to have to bring that up and see what Arthur had to say.

Then he was in Malaysia and missed his flight because he’d been busy the last three months and hadn’t sent Arthur any scarf that he could remember and, suddenly, he was hearing that the flight he was supposed to have been on _disappeared off the face of the earth._

He spent hours reassuring himself that he was actually awake and not in a dream and he wasn’t sure that made it any better.

‘Can’t make this shit up’, indeed.

He thought he was in shock as the initial investigation was underway and people managed to find him to ask him questions and he honestly didn’t have any answer to give them because he was going to make his Darling upset that he’d missed their anniversary and he didn’t want to go home without a scarf to make up for it. “A tradition, you see,” he’d explained. “My Darling would be more upset without one than my missing our milestone.”

The scary part was the understanding on some of their faces and the utter longing Eames felt for Arthur to be there with him and couldn’t be sure it was an act on his part.

Still, he was advised to not leave the country and his sudden aversion to flight bloody well ensured that.

He stayed at a place for a month and then another as the search went on.

He still had nothing to tell investigators, who eventually decided that he was the dead end he’d claimed to be and left him alone.

They still hadn’t found the bloody plane by the third month of the search and Eames just wanted to forget his near death experience.

He was debating about what he wanted to eat one evening when he got a call on his primary mobile number and blinked at Arthur’s name before cautiously answering. “Darling?”

“ _Eames_ ,” his name was breathed out with a laugh and something that sounded like a watery sniff. “ _It’s so good to hear your voice. I… I’m a few minutes away and just wanted to make sure you’re in. I got some dinner if you didn’t eat, yet.”_

Eames blinked at his mobile and brought it back to his ear. “Of course. I’ll make some room for you.”

Arthur hung up and Eames moved to wait by the door for the knock that came ten minutes later. The American looked horrible, pale, dark circles under his eyes, a duffle and backpack in tow and he was moving past with bags of food as soon as Eames cleared the door for him.

“Have you been doing well, Arthur?” Eames felt concerned as he secured the place and followed his quiet guest to the kitchen, dropping all of his bags in an unusually unconcerned way as he turned to look at Eames.

“Arthur?” he tried again, the slimmer male watching him in a silent way that he couldn’t help being alarmed over.

He looked more tired and relieved and slightly desperate and there was no trace of any sort of bloodthirsty urges in sight, so there was that, and Arthur was walking toward him.

Eames had no time to react before Arthur was grabbing him and his mouth was being claimed in a slightly desperate way that he couldn’t not react to.

He was backed into the wall as something snapped, Arthur groaning as their bodies pressed together. The feel of Arthur against him had sudden desire crashing into him and he’d turned them around so he could control the kiss as he pulled Arthur against him with his own groan.

“ _Fuck,_ Eames,” Arthur breathed against his mouth as Eames brought their hips together again and again, friction making them both harder as long legs wrapped around his waist.

“I will,” he promised, claiming his mouth again and again as he pressed them tighter together with every roll of his hips. “I’m going to fuck you so bloody hard that you’ll be feeling it in a month and you’ll remember how I burrowed my cock into your tight hole until I’m finished with you. You won’t be able to think of me without remembering being bent over a table while I pound into you. Do you want that, Darling?” he squeezed handfuls of Arthur’s ass as he thrust against him and Arthur arched with a choked cry as he came.

They eventually made it to the bed and the hour was late by the time they got around to eating the slightly cold food.

“I thought you were on the plane,” Arthur eventually spoke, empty containers around them as they sat on the floor in new pairs of pants.

“Yusuf should’ve called you or Saito should’ve, at the very least,” Eames mused.

“Yeah. They told me, after they figured out that you were okay. No one knew anything that first week, though. Everyone was trying to find you,” his breathing hitched.

“Well, as you’ve seen for yourself, Darling, I’m doing very well.”

“Yeah, you are,” he quirked a small smile before tipping his head back against the bed with a sigh. “I’m not sorry for being here.”

“I’m not, either. In fact,” he tipped his head in thought, “I can’t help thinking this was actually a rather long time in coming.”

“You could say that,” Arthur agreed.

He hummed slightly and glanced at the other with a small smile. “I didn’t mean to be so rough with you at times.”

“I’m fine,” he closed his eyes with a smile of his own.

Perhaps he needed the reminder of who he’d just been with, the aches and – no doubt – bruises serving as that reminder.

In any case, Arthur didn’t seem to mind and Eames pulled himself up with a groan.

“Next time,” Eames picked up their discarded trash. “We go for a tub and Jacuzzi.”

“We haven’t done the shower, yet,” the other pointed out with amusement.

“That will have to wait, too,” he told him. “Unless the both of us wants to drown afterwards when we inevitably fall asleep.”

“That sounds good,” Arthur sounded half asleep already as Eames moved back to the kitchen.

Arthur had managed to get himself sat on the bed when Eames came back. The little lamp on the dresser threw enough light for him to see with as he made his way to the room and was about to step over Arthur’s relocated duffle bag before an almost coral flash caught his eye.

Curious, he paused and followed that flash in the bag until he found a bundle of rather lightweight fabric in his hand.

He straightened and untangled it and stilled.

It was a scarf.

A rather _familiar_ scarf.

Slowly, his eyes tracked to Arthur as he watched from the bed, his expression unreadable as his dark eyes met Eames’.

“You kept it,” he realized, looking back at the scarf.

It was one of the recent ones he’d sent.

“I did,” came the response.

Eames looked back at him. “This isn’t the only one you kept, is it?”

Arthur met his gaze. “No.”

“Exactly how many did I –”

“Two hundred and twenty one,” the answer was exact and something on his face made Eames suck in a breath in surprise.

Two hundred and twenty one scarves?

He didn’t even remember.

Two hundred and twenty one.

And Arthur kept them _all_.

“You – you’re positive?” he swallowed.

“Yeah, I am.”

Eames didn’t doubt that.

“I don’t even remember what any of them looked like,” he glanced back down at the one he still held. “Held this one for a week before sending it. That’s why I remembered it.”

Something in Arthur’s eyes warmed slightly as he nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you did or not. They all seemed to be kind of random, actually, so I couldn’t help wondering if you were just pulling out the first one that caught your eye.”

“Must have.”

Arthur watched him study the coral colored scarf and, in a soft tone, began to tell him about the scarves he’d received.

Scarf One had been a bright green with thin pink stripes.

Scarf Eight had little snowmen.

Thirteen was a mix of pastel colors that kind of reminded him of a sunset.

Twenty Three was a teal winter scarf that was fuzzy and warm and stayed at Arthur’s place in New York.

Forty Nine was in Mexico, a thin light scarf with cacti having some sort of party.

Sixty Eight was an American Fourth of July theme.

Eighty Seven was filled with flamingoes and palm trees.

One hundred and Nine was Italian themed.

One hundred and Thirty was obviously one of the favorite winter scarves, filled with Canadian Maple leaves.

One hundred and Ninety Three never left Sweden with its wine grapes and glasses.

Two hundred was a Snoopy themed scarf.

Two hundred and Thirteen was a copy of the Andromeda galaxy.

The last - Two hundred and Twenty One - was, obviously, a mystery themed scarf.

Eames stared as Arthur trailed off, almost self-consciously.

“I wasn’t sure if they were important, but you didn’t seem to bring them up even though they kept coming,” he shrugged. “You didn’t ask for them back, either, so I… kept them. Well, except for eighteen of them,” he scowled. “Those were unfortunately lost, so I wasn’t able to keep those as much as I would’ve liked to.”

“You,” Eames finally swallowed. “You never told me to stop.”

“I know,” he nodded. “At one point… I didn’t want you to stop. I knew you were okay as long as I got a scarf. Maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months, didn’t matter. You were still alive to send me a scarf and I eventually stopped caring about why you were sending them. Maybe you don’t remember and I won’t ever know, but I don’t care anymore. I just… then the plane disappeared and … I didn’t get a scarf. And I kept waiting, thinking it was coming, and I suddenly thought that I wouldn’t know if you were okay or not, because maybe you would’ve sent it before getting on the plane and…” he struggled to swallow, looking down.

Oh, Arthur.

Eames was crawling on the bed before he knew it and coaxed his head to rest on his shoulder, the American curling almost miserably into him.

“I’m here, now, Darling,” Eames gathered him close.

“I know I didn’t have to keep them,” he sniffed, “but you – for whatever reason – were thinking about me and I couldn’t get rid of them. Even though I had no idea why you were doing it,” he gave a slight laugh.

Eames was hit with the sudden realization that this most _certainly_ had been a long time coming and that maybe Eames wasn’t the only one who’d been aware of that ‘beneath the surface’ something.

It had run deeper beneath the surface than he’d imagined.

For the longest time, Arthur had been dealing with it all alone.

“It’s alright,” Eames hugged him closer. “It’s alright.”

He wasn’t going to let Arthur deal with it by himself anymore, because he felt a bit of the same. And wasn’t it horrible to go through it alone?

“Come on, into bed,” he coaxed, standing up to turn off the light. He placed the scarf next to the lamp and crawled in behind Arthur, snuggling the pair of them down for the night.

About a month later, he sent the scarf he’d missed the flight for and sent a different scarf some weeks after.

Neither brought it up again, but Arthur gave him a smile whenever they ran into each other – either on  the same job or randomly around the globe. Sometimes, Eames would actually manage to catch him wearing one of his scarves and he would comment something about it and Arthur’s smile would grow.

The scarves were still random and still sent off one by one.

On one scarf buying trip, though, he bought two.

He wasn’t sure he would ever send the extra one – if he sent it at all -, but it would be there when he and – he suspected – Arthur was ready.

Ready for the words to be said, ready for the words to be heard, ready for the words to be returned.

Until then, he knew exactly where to find it.

* **

END


End file.
